Finding His Way Home
by Pir8grl
Summary: Destiny fixit.


_**Thank you to stillthewordgirl.**_

White light. It seemed all those stories were true. Leonard Snart was mildly surprised. The life he'd led, he always sort of assumed that whatever followed his death would involve a much hotter climate. The white was cool and soothing. He might almost call it pleasant, if it wasn't for the fact that he was dead.

And he knew he was dead. He distinctly remembered knocking Mick out and taking his place, holding down the failsafe. His heart twisted painfully in his chest when he recalled Sara kissing him goodbye. The look in her eyes had almost - _**almost**_ \- been enough to sway him from his chosen course.

And there it was. He was dead because of his own stupid stubbornness. If he couldn't live free, then he'd die free. He'd die in the knowledge that everyone he tolerated - and those few that he loved - could live their lives without the interference of the Time Bastards.

His musings were interrupted by strange voices, which seemed to be discussing…him.

"It was not your place to save any of them. You know that. There will be consequences for such a serious breach of protocol."

"Then they will be my consequences to bear," a calm voice replied.

"Of all the souls lost at the Vanishing Point, why this one? There were Time Masters there, with millennia of knowledge. This one is nothing but a common criminal, even by the standards of his own people!"

"There is nothing common about this one. His consciousness shines so brightly!"

"He is a thief and a murderer!"

"Not entirely by choice. When given command of his own destiny, he chose to be a hero. To die so that others might live their lives as they see fit."

"Which brings us back to the point - he is, in fact, dead."

"There is enough organic matter left to replace that which has been destroyed."

Snart wasn't entirely sure he liked the sound of that. Still…to not be dead. To see Lisa again…and Sara.

"Is that what you want, Mr. Snart?"

"Not-dead is always an improvement on dead. I just never realized it was an option, once I arrived here. Wherever here is."

"Your life ended in a place outside of time. This is another such place. Many things are possible here."

"Why me?" Snart demanded. "Like your friend said - the place was full of Time Bastards. Why me?"

The voice took on a tone of fond indulgence - perhaps what a loving parent might sound like, though Snart had no experience of such things. "The Time Masters are cold and repressed, eschewing all emotional bonds. But you, Mr. Snart - you _**glow**_. The woman who kissed you farewell - you are still connected to her. And another, on Earth - a sibling, I believe? Even that ruffian whose death you took on yourself. You are still connected to them. Do you not wish to see them again?"

"Maybe," Snart admitted cautiously. "But what about all this not messing with the timelines crap? What happens if I don't die?"

"But you did die, Mr. Snart. You are, in fact dead now, in the way that your kind knows death. But as I said, many things are possible in this place. Your consciousness still burns brightly, and there is just enough organic matter remaining to re-grow your body."

"What's in it for you?"

"Much like yourself, Mr. Snart, I am rather fond of breaking the rules."

* * *

It _**hurt**_. The pain was a million times worse than shattering his own hand had been. But he held on to the idea of seeing Sara again, clutching the memory of her face like a lifeline, until the pain overtook him, and the world was a wash of white-hot light.

* * *

The man on the floor of the Waverider's cargo bay was unconscious and naked, curled into a fetal position. He was also, unmistakably, Leonard Snart. Except…

"That ain't him," Mick Rory stated definitively.

"Sure it is," Ray Palmer exclaimed, with his usual innocent exuberance.

"Look, Haircut, you only ever seen the inside of a prison once, but some of it should have stuck. This guy may look like Snart, but he don't have a mark on him. You recall seeing anyone in that prison who wasn't cut or scarred?"

"Actually…no."

"How did he even get here?" Jax wondered.

"Gideon, any theories?" Rip Hunter inquired.

"No, Captain."

"That's useful," Mick muttered.

The prone figure turned over slowly and groaned. "Sara?"

Jax raised an eyebrow. "Looks like Snart, sounds like Snart, asking for Sara, and you're telling me that's not him?"

"I'm telling you what I see, kid," Mick replied belligerently. He did, however, shrug out of his jacket and drape it over the man on the floor.

* * *

They'd found him a pair of pants, at least. They'd also manacled him to an examining couch in the medbay, which Snart _**really**_ did not appreciate.

"You still have my ring?" he asked Mick suddenly. "You know… _ **the one from the first heist we ever pulled?"**_

"I gave it to Sara," the big man admitted gruffly.

"I want to see her."

"Not just yet, Mr. Snart," Hunter replied. "Or whoever you are."

"I'm Leonard Snart, the man you shanghaied six months ago to help you on your little quest for vengeance. How'd that turn out, anyway? Did you get your family back from the dead? Hmm?"

Hunter blanched and looked away.

Jax had been watching silently from the doorway. No one noticed him turn and disappear down the corridor.

"I want out of this chair. I want a pair of shoes, a shirt, and a drink, and I want to see Sara!"

Surprisingly, it was Mick who spoke. "No."

Snart went very still, and words shot out of his mouth with icy precision. "What do you mean, 'no?'"

"I'm not letting you anywhere near her until we know for sure that it's really you. I'm not letting anything hurt her."

Snart looked at his old friend with new respect, and nodded.

Hunter had recollected himself, and spoke with his usual crisp authority. "Doctor Palmer, if you could please continue with your scans? The quicker we know what we're dealing with -"

Sara Lance stood frozen in the door of the medbay. "Leonard?" she gasped.

"Mr. Jackson, what have you done?" Hunter demanded.

"She has a right to know," Jax replied hotly.

Jax had obviously just pulled her from her bed. She was barefoot, hair in tangles, dressed in yoga pants and a long sleeved navy blue tee shirt that swamped her tiny frame. Snart recognized it as his own. She was breathtaking.

"Sara," Snart breathed reverently.

She was moving towards him instantly, only to be stopped by Hunter.

"Sara, no."

She struggled against his arms.

"Why didn't you come get me?" she demanded.

"Sara, listen to me," Hunter pleaded, "we're not sure it's him."

"Of course it is! _**Look**_ at him!"

"We have been looking," Ray said quietly. "Thing is…his body is in perfect condition. Not a scar, not a blemish. Heck, not even any signs of cellular decay."

"What…what are you saying?" Sara asked.

"We're saying that…whoever this is…he's only a few hours old."

Sara finally pulled free of Hunter's hold. Mick immediately stepped in her path.

"Careful, Blondie," he said quietly.

She shoved him out of her way impatiently, and moved to stare at the man restrained on the examining couch. It was him. She was sure of it. She _**knew**_ those eyes. She saw them every night…in her dreams.

"Sara, it's me."

"Prove it. Tell me something that only we would know," she demanded. "Something even Gideon couldn't have overheard."

Snart nodded slightly. "At the Vanishing Point, after I knocked Mick out and took his place, I told you to get him out of there. You said no. I told you to just go."

"And then?" Sara prompted softly.

"And then you kissed me."

Sara's cheeks were flaming, but her voice was steady. "It's him. Let him go."

Mick nodded his agreement. "Sara never mentioned any kissing…not even to me."

"Probably because it's none of your business," Snart snapped.

"Gideon, release him," Sara said firmly.

"Captain Hunter?" the AI inquired politely.

"Fine," the captain acceded.

Snart sat up and rubbed his wrists. Sara stood stock still for a long moment, then launched herself into his arms. He'd forgotten how small she actually was - and how strong her grip was. Sara burrowed as close to him as she possibly could. Snart felt as though she might be leaving fingerprints on his back, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He'd very much have liked a repeat of that kiss, but not with an audience.

"I missed you," she breathed against his neck.

"I know."

Snart tipped Sara's face up and gently brushed her tears away with his thumb, then rested his forehead against hers. His silver ring hung from a chain around Sara's slender neck, and he touched it gently with his fingertips.

"Do you want it back?" she asked tremulously.

"No. It looks better on you." His smile turned sly. "I wouldn't mind having the shirt back, though. It's a bit chilly in here."

"Maybe later. I'm sort of attached to it."

Someone in the room cleared their throat, and Snart glared over Sara's shoulder. Jax had tactfully disappeared. Hunter and Palmer were studiously examining the floor and ceiling, respectively. Mick just rolled his eyes.

Sara giggled, and Snart relaxed, allowing her to turn in his embrace. He kept his arms wrapped around her, not really giving a damn what anyone else might have to say about that. She seemed to concur, leaning back against him and holding tight to his arm with both hands.

"Can you tell us what happened, Mr. Snart?" Hunter asked quietly.

"It's starting to fade," Snart admitted. "I was dead, I know that."

Sara shuddered in his arms, and he tightened his hold on her.

"Do your people know about any other races that operate outside of time?" Snart asked curiously.

Hunter laughed deprecatingly. "Only as myths, I'm afraid."

"Well, one your myths took a shine to me. Seemed to think I had some unfinished business. If there's still a place for me?"

"For us," Sara corrected firmly.

"Of course," Hunter replied lightly. "I can't very well turn the two of you loose on an unsuspecting galaxy, now can I? Welcome home, Mr. Snart."

"Welcome home," Ray echoed.

"Does this mean you want your stuff back?" Mick asked.

* * *

They were curled together on Sara's bunk, with a bottle Mick had pressed into Snart's hand with an obnoxious leer that warned of weeks of terrible puns and innuendos to come. Neither could really bring themselves to give a damn just then. They were content to lie there in a comforting and comfortable tangle of limbs, interspersed with gentle, lazy kisses.

"You were right, you know," Snart murmured as he absently stroked her arm.

"'Bout what?"

"Being dead. It was…it felt like you, and Lisa, and Mick were a million miles away from me. Like I'd do anything to get back to you."

Sara propped herself up on one elbow, so she could see his face. "What _**did**_ you have to do, Leonard?" she asked intently.

"Nothing, besides being reborn, which hurt like hell."

Sara shuddered, and laid her head back on his chest. She had a similar recollection. "What happened, really?"

Snart sighed in frustration. "I'm not sure. It's all sort of fading. There was this white light - just like all those stories you hear. And there were these two…aliens, I guess, and they were talking about me. One of them saved me. He said…he said a lot of things. He said I was holding on, because I wanted to get back to the people I loved." He paused. "To you."

"Was that really so hard to admit?"

"Maybe. I've never been good at this sort of thing."

"You're doing fine," Sara assured him, leaning in to kiss him.

Snart's hand slipped up under Sara's shirt and she froze, breath hitching in her chest.

"What is it?" he asked carefully.

"It's…" she looked away.

"Sara?"

"You have this brand new, perfect body, and me…I'm…"

"You're beautiful." His hand ghosted up her back, tenderly caressing her scars. "These? These are badges of honor. These are proof that you're strong. That you're a survivor." He punctuated his words with tiny kisses to her forehead, cheek, chin, and finally the corner of her mouth. "That you can handle anything."

"I don't think I could handle losing you again."

"Not planning on going anywhere," he said lightly. "I am, however, planning on stealing this shirt back."

"Come and get it, Crook," Sara said, with an inviting smile.


End file.
